


Come Home

by SniperMoran



Series: Sebastian Flashbacks/Nightmares [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Past Relationship, Five Year Anniversary, I'm so mean to Sebastian, Lonely Sebastian, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, drabble thingy, filler while I work on something else, it's a short thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:46:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8872696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SniperMoran/pseuds/SniperMoran
Summary: It's been five years since James left Sebastian behind. The detective returned to his right hand man, but Sebastian is not so lucky.





	

Smoke rose slowly, snaking its way towards the cloudy sky from the balcony where the sniper leaned against the rail. He glanced upwards, dull eyes following the trail of smoke as it rose upwards and disappeared amongst the clouds, blending in. “Looks like another fucking storm…” he muttered absently to himself.

It had been five years now. Five long, grueling years of nothingness and the returning rise of that pompous detective. Sebastian shoved a hand into his jacket pocket, retrieving his phone. He unlocked the screen and slid his finger along the side, the messages on-screen flying by. His eyes skimmed over them, tears welling up in them as he did so. “I knew something was wrong…I knew you were acting strangely…” he whispered, sighing, his breath leaving him in a fog. “But nooo…I had to follow your goddamned orders. Wasn’t allowed to fucking ask about it. Wasn’t allowed to just shoot the damn detective and be done with this stupid game.” his voice was becoming more of a growl as he tossed his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his worn boot. Stubbornly, he wiped at his eyes and stormed back into the flat, slamming the sliding door, the glass shaking slightly from the movement.

The flat was in a shameful state of disorder and messiness. There were bottles strewn across the floor, here and there, and ashtrays were overflowing with cigarette butts. The sink was filled with dirty dishes and the garbage was filled with take-out boxes. “If you could see me now…” he murmured, glancing around for the millionth time in the past couple hours. It was today. Five years ago, today. Other years, he’d bothered to clean up, at least for this day, on the off-chance that… Well, there wasn’t a point getting his hopes up now, was there? Five years was a long time for someone to disappear. “You’d have my head on a spike if you could see this mess…” he finally finished, throwing himself down in the Sebastian-shaped depression on the couch.

“If you were alive…you’d have come back by now, wouldn’t you have? I imagine I would have at LEAST gotten a fucking text…” It was the same conversation he’d had with himself every anniversary, and every anniversary, like clockwork, he would drink himself into a stupor when no-one came home, and no texts came in. He would drink until the pain was numbed and his senses were dulled. And then he would sleep his way into the next day, sometimes even sleeping for two days straight. It never mattered anymore, anyway. There was no work to be done, no targets to take out, nothing. There was only nothing.  
There were empty rooms of memories and suits and shoes and ties and things he didn’t want to see anymore, didn’t want to think about anymore. So those rooms were closed off, and he slept in the living room, where he could be at peace. …or as at peace as he could get, anyway.

The silence in the flat was more deafening on these days than all the others. It cut straight into his heart. He could barely remember the man’s face, and could even less remember his voice, his laughter, his smile. He was disappearing, bit by bit, and there wasn’t much to remember him by save for the stupid outerwear. What good were those stupid things to the sniper? He could sell them, sure, and more than likely make a damn good profit from them too. Buy more smokes, booze and take-out with the money made from selling the damn things. But…he couldn’t bring himself to even enter that room anymore, let alone touch the suits to sell them.

The lightning crackled across the sky outside, lighting up the living room. Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his jacket tighter around himself, hugging himself, waiting for the crash of thunder. The loud rumble shook the flat, and the seasoned sniper tried his best to keep his breathing steady, biting back the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He hated this season. Hated that HE had made this season even worse. The storm continued rampaging outside the windows, and the sniper huddled up into himself, squeezing his eyes closed and breathing as steadily as was possible, trying not to let the panic set in.

With every crash of thunder, the vision flashed in his mind, the gun to his mouth, the wicked grin on his face, the hint of sadness in his eyes. The light dying almost immediately, the world slowing as he fell backwards. Crash, and replay. Crash, and replay. Over and over he watched as the man he had dedicated his life to fell. Over and over he felt his heart sink, his body go cold. Over and over he wished it had been him. It was his job, after-all, to be the one to protect his boss. It had been his job to take the bullets aimed at his boss. But he hadn’t saved him from the most important one, the most deadly one. He had failed. Over and over again his failure played out in his mind as the storm rolled on.

“I failed you…” he whimpered, foregoing the strong air and letting himself fall apart. Who was he feigning strength for anymore, anyway? There was no one here. No one cared about the washed up sniper. No one cared that the Second Most Dangerous Man in all of London was holed up in a flat, afraid of a storm and afraid of his past. “It should have been me…I should have taken that bullet and you should still be here. You were the brains of this damn operation. What the fuck am I supposed to do here without you, huh? What do I do without you?!” he shouted, pushing himself up, tears streaming down his face. “I’m such a fucking wreck without you…Who knew I’d become so damned dependent….You’d be so disappointed.” he murmured, hanging his head in shame. “What I wouldn’t give to hear your antagonizing voice belittle and berate me right now… I wish you’d just come home…”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so terrible to my Sebastian baby... I hurt him out of love, I swear.
> 
> I'm plotting and working on something else that I hope will be longer, but I had the sudden urge to add to this series.


End file.
